FrUk 100 Theme Challange
by SovietChick
Summary: 100 chapters for our France and England. Rated M for England's cussing and France's being French. Human names used. Also, chapters get better as time goes on. Constructive criticism is loved!
1. Introduction

"Yo Artie, have you met the new kid yet?"

"I told you to stop calling me that."

The time was around 8:30 AM at the Hetalia World High School, the large classroom buzzing with conversation. Arthur Kirkland, a junior, glared up from his book (The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carol) at his friend, Alfred Jones. The freshman didn't seem too concerned with the sudden command. He leaned dangerously back in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk before him.

"Psh, whatever man. But like I was saying, have you met the dude yet?" he stubbornly insisted, resting his hands behind his head in the kind of casual gesture that ticked Arthur off. The Brit huffed, stuffing his face back in his book with determination, despite the knowledge that ignoring his 'little' brother' of sorts was impossible. (They weren't actually related; on the first day of school, Alfred had marched straight up to him on a dare and declared themselves brothers, and it all went downhill from there…)

"Stop leaning back in your chair, Ivan's going to push you over again," Arthur reprimanded as he turned a page. "And no, I haven't met him yet. Why do you ask?"

"Cuz the dude keeps staring over here. It's starting to freak me out, man."

The Englishman sighed in tired annoyance. Really, could the American get any more dense?

"Honestly, Alfred," he began, finally shutting his book. "You watch too many of those idiotic scary films. There is no way the new student is-"

Green eyes suddenly met blue, and for a moment the Brit was disoriented. Those eyes… They were unfamiliar, bright, the color of twin tropical oceans… Arthur found himself ensnared, and could only stare as the student from across the classroom tilted his head to the side as if in curiosity. Suddenly, he smiled, winking in a flirtatious manner as he blew Arthur a little kiss.

"Wh-what!"

While Alfred was left laughing uncontrollably in his seat, Arthur glared at the new student. Unfortunately, he was unable to hide the crimson blush spreading across his cheeks like wildfire… The new student merely smirked and began to amiably chat with the man next to him, a senior from Spain.

"D-damn him!" Arthur jumped to his feet, transferring his glare to the guffawing American. "Shut the hell up!" he shouted, smacking him upside the head with his book.

There was **no way** he was going to let that wanker treat him like some… Some virgin schoolgirl!

So he stomped over to the offending student, nose in the air in the classic British gesture of superiority.

"Antonio, who's your new… **Friend**?" he frostily inquired, making the word sound as menacing as possible. Antonio smiled (which was no surprise whatsoever, Arthur didn't think he had the capacity to frown) but the new student merely rose an eyebrow at his transparent irritation. Not only was he taller than the Englishman (Arthur hated his own height with a burning passion), but his wavy hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, several tendrils of honey blonde hair cascading around his forehead, his neck.

Great hair and increased height, coupled with a (idiotic) romantic attitude?

Needless to say, Arthur already hated him.

"Oh, this is Francis Bonnefoy, my new amigo!" Antonio brightly replied, obviously oblivious to the tense atmosphere. "He's an exchange student from France! And man, chico, you really have to hear some the stories this guy can tell! What an animal!"

As the Spaniard dissolved into cheerful laughter, Francis gave Arthur a slow, sultry smile, grabbing his hand and raising it to his lips.

""Mmm… Bonjour~" he murmured, smirking slightly at the look on Arthur's face. "And to whom do I own the pleasure, ma cher?"

"L-let me go!" Arthur snatched his hand face, face burning with sudden heat. French? He didn't think it was possible, but he hated the man even more! Adjusting the top button of his shirt (Francis kept staring at his chest; it was making his damn uncomfortable), he glared furiously at the man.

"Arthur Kirkland," he said curtly, crossing his arms in a huff. He turned sharply on his heel, hoping to retreat back to the world of Wonderland. "Well, if that's it, I'll just be-"

Suddenly, there was a strange tight grip around his bottom. Head whipping to the side, he stared in shock to see Francis grinning a wicked grin, groping his butt tightly. For a few moments, the Brit was too stunned to react, even as laughter erupted from the students surrounding them.

"Y-YOU FROGGY **BASTARD**!"

He launched himself at the Frenchman in a senseless rage, the other merely laughing his prissy little French head off.

He really, **really** wished he had never looked up from his book…


	2. Love

"O MISTRESS MINE, WHERE ARE YOU ROAMING?"

"Wh-what…?"

"O! STAY AND HEAR; YOUR TRUE LOVE'S COMING!"

"What in the bloody…?"

Arthur wrenched his eyes opened as he woke, staring into the darkness of his room.

"THAT CAN STING BOTH HIGH AND LOV JOURNEY NO FURTHER,"

He was alone, Arthur could see that. But then what the hell was that-

"PRETTY SWEETING: JOURNEYS END IN LOVERS MEETING,"

Blasted racket? The Englishman stumbled groggily out of bed, grabbing onto the nightstand for support.

"EVERY WISE MAN'S SON DOTH KNOW."

Noting a strange light leaking from the heavy curtains beside his bed, Arthur impatiently threw back the shades and undid the window latch, pulling up the daft thing and leaning outside.

"WHAT IS LOVE? 'TIS NOT HEREAFTER; PRESENT MIRTH HATH PRESENT LAUGHTER;"

"God dammit Frog! It's three o' clock in the bloody-"

His worst enemy, Francis Bonnefoy, was standing outside his bedroom window, shouting Shakespearian poetry while holding a beautiful bouquet of crimson roses high. And, as Arthur could see as Francis was illuminated by the motion sensor lights in his yard, the Frenchman was completely nude.

"WHAT'S TO COME IS STILL UNSURE."

"BASTARD!"

Face flushing a shade akin to Francis' roses, Arthur snatched a dusty rapier from the wall and flung at the Frenchman in a mortified rage. He easily dodged the lethal weapon, skipping a pace or two to the side to avoid it.

"IN DELAY THERE LIES NO PLENTY;"

"Get the hell off my property!"

"THEN COME AND KISS ME, SWEET AND TWENTY;"

Arthur somehow managed to throw a grandfather clock out of the window, which Francis again dodged with apparent ease.

"YOU THIS A STUFF WILL NOT ENDURE."

While scrambling to grab something heavier to throw (such as a safe, or an oven of some sort) Arthur caught side of the calendar hanging upon his wall.

February 14th.

Of. Course.

He poked his head back out the window, glaring out at the grinning Frenchman.

"Je t'aime, ma cher Arthur!" Francis called, blowing the Brit a flirty kiss.

"GET BENT, YOU FLAMING UPHILL GARDENER!"

With that, Arthur slammed the window shut and closed the heavy curtains.

Rather than be discouraged by the quick rejection, Francis merely chuckled, smiling up at the closed window.

"Aw, Angeleterre~ You're so cuteeee~" he sang.

The Frenchman strolled to the back door, spinning a brass key around his finger…

-O-o-O-

Author's Note:

Francis is quoting _Feste's Song, _from Shakespeare's _Twelfth Night._

And uphill gardener? An offensive British term for homosexual. I don't recommend using it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, Shakespeare, or any nations mentioned here!

PS- I got the idea from Artificial Starlight, from her Valentine's Day oneshot for her story Giving In. I recommend you check it out, RusCan-ers.


	3. Light

A shooting star streaked across the sky, landing unseen somewhere beyond the horizon.

_I wish it was summer._

Francis Bonnefoy was standing out on the balcony of his high rise apartment, staring out at the twinkling lights of Paris. He exhaled steam and smoke, a cigarette firmly held between the index and middle fingers of his right hand.

The thought of warm summer breezes and dancing fireflies made him heave a wistful sigh. His own city was so different from his breezy imagination, every flat surface nor touched by human hands glittering with a perfect layer of snow. The weather forecast called for another little blizzard, yet the endless expanse of stars set in a black velvet sky was perfectly visible. Well, perhaps not perfect; most of the stars were dimmed by the shining city…

Francis found himself wishing everyone would just turn out the lights.

He took another drag of his cigarette, lighting tapping it against the frozen railing to rid it of the ashes. The people hurrying by on the maze of streets below looked like ants from where he was standing… His eyes followed the trail of smoke drifting from his mouth, watching it turn and twist in the frigid air until it dissolved into nothingness. Non, they weren't far enough to be ants. Maybe like doll… Oui, that was it. The citizens of his nation looks to him like perfect little porcelain dolls, all controlled by some unseen puppet master.

Despite all of the people walking below, Francis felt lonely.

Although he supposed he should be proud of his city, world renowned for art, fine cuisine, and beautiful people, but tonight he just couldn't work up the feeling. The night seemed to kill any sense of happiness or contentment within him, as frost beheads flowers in its path of unstoppable winter/ Honestly, Francis had no idea what exactly he had to be proud of, to brag about. Sure, having a carefree, luxurious culture was nice, but what about his past?

All throughout history he had shown himself to be a bloody coward over and over again. The only thing he had that he really should be proud of 100 Years War, where he had regained control of the top half of his country. But at what cost? Joan of Arc, the only women he had ever loved, was burned at stake before his very eyes. After her death, everything seemed to get worse and worse… He had surrendered countless times, had more revolutions than he really cared to name, and he didn't even want to mention the Napoleonic era…

One failure after another, throughout all of history.

Francis shook his head, trying to rid himself of such dark thoughts.

_Non, I'm strong!_ he reassured himself, just like he always did when the thoughts returned. But the words seemed hollow, meaningless to his ears. The painful memories stayed, continuing to taint his mind with poison.

Francis pulled the jacket tighter around him, as if heat would kill the diseased thoughts.

The city continued to shine like an array of perfect diamonds beneath him, mocking his dour mood. Sometimes, the Parisian considered launching himself over the ledge, to feel the air rush past him, lovingly brushing his skin as he rushed to crash to the-

"Francis, get the hell back inside. Are you trying to freeze yourself to death?"

The Frenchman suddenly smiled, turning to see Arthur standing in the doorway being him, dressed in blue silk pajamas and crossing his arms with fake irritation. His eyes caressed the emerald eyes, the gently tanned skin, the lithe form until the Englishman blushed.

"And is that a cigarette you're holding?"

"Non."

"Didn't I tell you to get rid of them? It's a filthy habit."

"And I said I would get rid of them tomorrow. This is the last night, I promise."

But Francis obligingly dropped the cigarette, grounding it into nothingness with the heel of his boot. (It was mostly ash by now, anyway.) Arthur nodded in approval, reaching out to the Frenchman.

"Good. Now come inside. I just made some hot chocolate."

"Did you burn it again?"

"No, I most certainly did not! And for the record, that only happened once!"

"Twice, if I remember correctly. "

"Either you drink it or I'll pour it on your damned froggy throat.

"So I'll die of food poisoning either way, oui?"

Francis smiled, taking Arthur's hand and allowing him to lead the way back inside, to the warmth and light.

"Je t'aime, Arthur."

"Yeah yeah, back at you, Frog."

His dark thoughts could rest for another day.

Right now, all he wanted to do was bask in the glow of his lover.


	4. Dark

A shooting star streaked across the sky, landing unseen somewhere beyond the horizon.

_ I wish it was winter._

Arthur Kirkland was seated in a comfy armchair in the living room of his quaint summer home, staring out at the dark fields just beyond the window. A file full of confidential papers sat on his lap, looking a bit sullen and neglected as its reader's once diligent attention was turned elsewhere.

The thought of icy webs of frost on the windowpane and feather soft snow made him heave a longing sigh. It seemed most people disliked the cold season, a fact that he honestly could not understand. The Brit was most at home building snowmen, hanging mistletoe, driving a horse drawn carriage through small towns for couples on Christmas Eve…

He heaved another sigh.

_Stop that incessant groaning! _he chastised himself in irritation, stubbornly stuffing his face back in the file. _No need to feel sorry for yourself; you're the bloody United Kingdom!_

And yet Arthur was unable to concentrate on histhe the words dancing before his eyes, his attention drawn to the night like a moth to candlelight.

Sure, he was happy about everything he accomplished: He was a stable nation with a long and illustrious history, legendary for his imperial methods and tenacity in the face of war. But really, when was the last time he had himself a good bit of fun…?

He couldn't remember.

Once, he had never had these thoughts, these strange, rebellious ideas. But ever since he had lost Alfred… Since his son had gained his independence and then exceed him, an ancient nation, in power, Arthur's ideals had shifted just slightly…They seemed to be the same, until he really, truly looked. He had always had an idea of what was right and wrong, but now… He wasn't so sure.

Arthur shook his head ferociously, trying to rid himself of these troublesome thoughts. But that refused to leave, clinging to his mind like spider webs, cloyingly soft and ever so sweet. It suddenly occurred to him: When was the one time in his life when he honestly did whatever he felt like, whenever he felt like it?

Memories of endless blue seas and skies came rushing back, and the Englishman couldn't help but smile. Ah, his pirate days… The absolute freedom was nothing like he had ever felt before and hadn't felt since then. The recollection of being rid of all responsibilities, all the weight of being a nation lifted from his shoulders as he only thought of the ocean or rum or perhaps a wench or two.

What he would give to return to those days…

"Arthur, are you just going to mope around all night? Come outside, the weather's wonderful!"

The Briton glanced over at the back door, examining the lean form of his French lover standing in the doorway. Francis smiled over at him, eyes the color of twin aquamarines dancing with constant laughter as he returned Arthur's gaze.

"But Francis, I have to finish reading the new environmental treaty and then I have to sort out that bloody mess of taxes and-"

"Save it for tomorrow! It's a beautiful night."

Francis extended his hand to Arthur, seemingly innocent request ruined the the sinful fire in his eyes. Arthur hesitated, feeling his own heart burning with desire as he met that lustful gaze. Maybe… He could put all of his responsibilities off for now… He really deserved some relaxation… So he rose to his feet, letting the papers fall in a messy heap to the floor, taking a few steps and intertwining his hand with Francis'.

"Fine, frog… But just for tonight. And no funny business!" His seemingly strict, reluctant stone was ruined by the blush on his cheeks, the smile on his lips, the look in his eyes… Francis chuckled.

"One night's all I need, Angeleterre."

Arthur let Francis pull him into the darkness, letting the warm night air envelope him like a second skin.

All of that blasted paperwork could wait.

Tonight, he was going to do what he wanted.

O-o-O

Author's Note:

As you can tell, the last two chapters coincide. What else was I supposed to do with Light/Dark? Anyway, the angst will be coming soon. Look for it in the next chapters!

Disclaimer:

I do not own Hetalia, nations, or any other trademark thing you might find here.

P.S- Light/Dark are dedicated to my good friend, ocobeam! You know who you are.


	5. Seeking Solace

England winced as he lowered himself gingerly into a well cushioned armchair. That damn German and his Luftwaffe… The bombings absolutely killed him; he found new wounds slashing across his body every day. But he was luck, his London, his precious capital, was untouched. For now, anyway…

Arthur heave a sigh, hands folded neatly across his lap as he watched the dismal world outside. Rain was pounding from a dull grey sky, beating ferociously against the windowpanes like a hail of never ending bullets. Despite the unseasonal cold nipping at his bones, he felt his chest burning with heat. If only the rain would put out the fires… The Englishman took a sip of his favorite tea in an attempt to distract himself from the fire and pain. Perhaps he would read a book, work on his embroidery, listen to the radio. He needed all the rest he could get while he still could. Lord knew when that insane German would finally calm.

Rising to his feet, Arthur took a step to the large, overstuffed bookshelf, intent on grabbing a book of fairy tales to amuse himself.

He never made it.

_**BRRRRIIIINNNNGGGGG! BRRRRIIIINNNNGGGGG! BRRRRIIIINNNNGGGGG! **_

"Hm?"

The doorbell? Who in the world would be out in this weather? He walked to the door, undoing the deadbolt with a small frown.

'This better not be a salesman, I swear to God-'

It wasn't.

"F-frog?"

Francis Bonnefoy, the representative of France, stood on his doorstep for the first time in months, in the sorriest state Arthur had ever seen him in. His clothes were torn and stained with mud and who knew what else. His hair, normally teased to perfection, was unkempt. And his eyes… Thos twin sapphires, usually dancing with laughter and light, were as dull as stones.

"B-bonjour." He stuttered, rubbing his arms for warmth. "M-may I come in? Please?"

The desperation was so strange, so foreign in that teasing voice that all Arthur could do was mutely nod and step aside.

"Merci! Merci, Angeleterre!" The Parisian gratefully cried, rushing past him into the room. Arthur closed the door behind him, turning to stare, wide eyed, at his ancient rival. He hadn't noticed it before (although now it seemed a fairly imperative fact), but Francis was covered in blood. It stained his stubbled face, his clothes, his battle scarred, sun tanned skin. Through his shirt (although it barely qualified as a shirt anymore, seeing how it was merely a few frayed shreds of filthy cloth) Arthur's eyes caught sight of a larg sign carved amongst all of the ancient scars into the nation's back, punctuated by bruises and clotted with blood. He sucked in a sharp breath as he relized what it was.

"Oh my God…"

"I bet I look like a wreck, don't I?" Francis asked softly, glancing back at Arthur with a wry smile.

That was a gross understatement. He looked as if the devil himself had dragged him down to the seventh circle of hell, let him burn for a good, long time, then thrown him off the Frenchman's precious Eiffel Tower.

But he wasn't about to tell him that.

"Undress yourself. We need to clean your wounds." He commanded, gesturing to Francis to follow him into the bathroom. To his anxious surprised, the Parisian didn't even laugh at the command to strip, merely nodding at the order and walking after him. As Arthur fetched a medkit and several towels from the closet, Francis gingerly removed his clothes and placed the muddy, filthy cloth into the sink.

"Relax. I'll bandage you up, okay?"

Francis was silent, merely nodding in resignation and settling into the bathtub. Arthur began to wash his lean, once strong body with a washcloth, anxiously noting how skinny the man was. When was the last time he had eaten? His hand fluttered over his skin with a touch as soft as butterfly wings, gently setting bones, bandaging cuts, applying pressure here, an ointment there…

"Two of your ribs are broken, but I don't think anything's punctured. Are you having any trouble breathing?"

"Non."

Arthur nodded in relief, motioning for Francis to stand.

"Non, merci Dieu I can still do that much."

The Frenchman shakily rose to his feet, one hand using Arthur's shoulder as a crutch as he stepped out of the now filthy tub. England carefully dried every inch of Francis' skin that wasn't bandaged, dabbing his bare skin with a soft towel. He only broke his concentration once, to tell Francis to sit on the counter so he could bandage his feet. They were terrible, raw and bloody as if he had walked thousands of miles without shoes.

"Where are your shoes?"

Francis was silent, merely giving the Englishman a painful shrug.

In a matter of minutes, the two rivals were seated side by side on the couch, each holding a steaming cup of tea. Francis was wearing Arthur's pajamas, which happened to be a size or two too small and printed with the Union Jack,, but he was grateful nonetheless. He couched over his tea as if afraid someone would snatch it, a blanket thrown over his shoulders.

"All hell broke loose after Ludwig invaded. I just surrendered because, really Arthur, what hope was there for me? My infrastructure was a wreck, and my own people had no faith in me. And, how in the world would Poland and the others help me?"

He laughed at that, a wry, bitter sound.

"So I just gave up. Have you seen Ludwig lately? I would just look up at those of eyes… I've never seen a man look so detached while torturing someone, Arthur. Never. He looks nothing like that gangly little boy following Gilbert around everywhere, tripping over his own feet… He hates to be reminded of that, by the way."

He took a long draught of his tea, finishing it off in one go. He placed in of the coffee table, the glass clinking against the pot almost melodically.

"A man named Charles de Gaulle is starting a provisional government here in England until Germany is gone. Your government hasn't agreed to it yet, but we're pretty sure they will soon. Is that okay?"

He glanced over at Arthur at that. The Englishman took a shaky sip of tea, placing the still full cup next to Francis'.

"Wh-why do you ask? It's not as if I get any real say in it."

Sure, he was considered an advisor to the crown, but he didn't have any true decisive vote like the humans of his nation did. The Frenchman didn't seem too concerned by that fact, continuing to stare at Arthur with that indescribable look in his eyes.

"Oui, I know that. I want to know if it's okay with you, ma cher."

Arthur hesitated. Yes, France had been his most hated rival for centuries, but… Here he was, broken, weak, in need of help. Honestly, he had never thought he would see the day when Francis came begging for help, never in hi long life. It didn't seem possible, to have the proud Frenchman be so humble… The thought would have once made him so happy, so accomplished, but now it just made him sick to his stomach. So, he took a deep, calming breath and counted one uncharacteristic action with another.

Francis' eyes widened in disbelief as he felt arms suddenly wrap around his torso, too gentle to jar his wounds.

"Fine." Arthur mumbled into the Parisian's chest. "But as soon as that damned German's gone, you're going straight back to your froggy, wine sucking excuse of a country, understand?"

Francis suddenly smiled, placing his hands on England's waist and hugging him back, dull eyes now shining in appreciation.

As they hugged, Arthur tenderly began to stroke his rival's back, thoughts turning to the Swastika carved into the flesh just below his fingertips. If he was lucky, Francis would be back to his idiotic, perverted self in no time…

"Oui." The Frenchman replied, once dull eyes shining in appreciation as he enjoyed his friend's comforting warmth. "It's a deal."

O:o:O

O:o:O

O:o:O

History time:

September 1st, 1939- Germany invades Poland, an ally of France. Poland falls on October 6th, 1939.

May 10th, 1940- Germany invades France.

June 14th, 1940- France surrenders and the German forces enter Paris.

June 18th, 1940- Charles de Gaulle makes a declaration to the French citizens in England, making his movement (the Freed France Movement) known to the general public. Actually, most of the French population heard the speech on June 22nd, when it was broadcasted over the BBC.

Ironically, also on June 22nd, France officially signed an armistice with Germany.

By this time, the bombing of London had yet to begun, but Germany had bombed several military positions in Great Britain.


	6. Break Away

It was finally time.

Both the French and English armies drew back, forming a silent ring around the two duelers.

This one fight would determine the fates of the two powerful nations.

The final battle had come.

I the center of the circle, two men were locked in the heat of battle. They struck and parried and swirled around each other in a deadly dance, bloodied swords flashing like rubies in the sunlight.

"Do you really think you can beat me?" one hissed as blade met blade, the resulting _**CLANG!**_ a mock allusion to church bells on Sunday. "You know you're just a pitiful weakling, Francis."

For a moment, the other was silent, all of his attention focused on trying to land a blow on his worst enemy.

"I'm not a weakling. I've pushed you this far, oui?" he retorted, wincing slightly at the other's blade stabbed at a point in his articulated armor.

"You may have won at first, but the people of your little town of Bordeaux welcomed me back with open arms. This isn't over."

The two were quiet for a few moments, each too concentrated on the other to speak. Francis feinted for the joints of the other's armor while aiming for the neck, but he was blocked, forced to go onto the defense.

"You're fighting so hard for this stupid wine guzzling country of yours, Francis. Why not just give up?"

The Frenchman gritted his teeth at that, blocking the other's feints and stabs with expert precision while searching for a chance to strike back.

"I can't give up. Not now."

The Englishman smirked, slashing a shallow cut across Francis' cheek with a mere flick of his wrist as he fumbled to defend himself.

"What, and burning that little whore of yours was the proper motivation?"

That taunt successfully sealed his fate.

Francis suddenly roared with incomprehensible rage, tripling his efforts at the insult. Azure eyes smoldering in fury, he destructively stabbed and sliced at his ancient rival, managing to surprise him with his ferocity.

"JOAN."

A cut to the cheek, sending blood trailing down his pale face.

"IS."

A stab to the throat, blocked by a last minute dodge to the side.

"NOT."

Another feint to the neck with a slash to the forehead, blinding the Englishman with his own blood.

"A."

A push while his opponent was distracted, sending Arthur toppling to the ground.

"WHORE!"

Francis stood over his enemy, the tip of his sword pressed against the vulnerable flesh of Arthur's neck. They were both panting from exertion, eyes meeting with glares bursting with fury and hatred. The Frenchman could feel the growing excitement from his army as they sensed the end of the war. Arthur merely gritted his teeth, hands clenched in absolute rage and disbelief.

"D-damn you!" he hissed, one hand scrambling to retrieve his fallen sword. Francis swiftly kicked it out of his grip and it skidded harmlessly away from its master. He returned his attention to the Brit at his feet, pressing his sword to his unprotected throat until a single bead of crimson blood bubbled to the surface.

A voice was screaming inside of him to kill him, kill the idiotic Brit now while he had the chance, to kill him now! It would be so easy, he just had to press down a little harder and the man who had killed the only woman he had ever loved would be dead, completely and totally dead.

Francis wanted to kill Arthur, wanted to stain his hands with the Englishman's blood so, so bad…

And yet…

Ye couldn't.

A life for the life… In the end, it meant nothing. Killing his rival would not leave his lover back, not at all. And even if it did, she would hate him so much for it. He almost smiled at the thought of her losing her temper at him as she often did, crossing her arms as her lips set into a perfect pout.

Joan…

"Get the hell out of my country."

For a moment, he pressed harder down onto Arthur's jugular, eyes blazing as he glared down at the man he hated the most in this world.

"Or next time I **won't **hesitate to kill you."

Francis whisked his sword back into the sheath and gave his army a sharp nod. They rose in a great cheer, running crazily after the suddenly retreating British army.

The Frenchman, seemingly oblivious to the clamor about him, smiled up at the perfect sky, staring at the one fluffy cloud tucked away in that sea of endless blue. For just a moment, he could've sworn he saw a dark haired maiden wave down at him, smiling as he fluttered off into the endless heavens with wings as white as those of doves…

But perhaps it was just his imagination.

oOo

OoO

oOo

OoO

oOo

OoO

oOo

History time:

100 Years War (1337-1453): The British gained control of almost the entire top half of France, but were then pushed back into their home country.

When everything seemed hopeless, a peasant girl named Joan of Arc rose up and took control of the entire French army at the age of 17, due to the fact that she claimed to hear voices from God. There was a long standing prophesy at the time that a maiden would rise up to save France in its hour of need, so she was declared leader of the entire French army.

May 30th, 1431- After a series of military victories, Joan was captured by the British and burned at stake for heresy.

1453- The last battle of the Hundred Years war, won by the French.

(Note: Joan of Arc is also known as Jeanne d'Arc, The Maiden of Orleans, and is a patron saint of France. She gained sainthood on May 16th, 1920.


	7. Innocence

"Francis you know damn well what we need to do."

It was an overcast, windy day in London, the skies above rumbling with the ever present threat of rain. The heavens had already opened twice that afternoon, the damp chilliness making the constant icy slivers of wind colder than the heart of the greediest loan shark. Francis always felt so out of place here, as if he was an aristocrat visiting the desolate homes of the pheasants. He checked himself at the thought; in the old days he never thought twice at the notion of looking down at humans (a part of him even enjoyed it), but now things were different. The immortal had never really thought so much on the notion of life and death, and why should he? He had no reason to, seeing as how he was part of the race of nation, a people literally dependent on the welfare of their respective countries. As long as his people still thought of themselves as the French, even under times of takeover he would still be alive. Weakened, but alive. So why did the thought of throwing himself out of the window to the gritty city streets below seem so appealing?

"Are you even listening to me?"

Francis finally glanced away from the world outside, gazing into the clover eyes of his lover. Arthur was scowling in that certain way of his, arms crossed in a huff as he glared at the Frenchman from across the room.

"I swear, you've been spacing out ever since you got home. Are you feeling all right?"

Those eyes he loved narrowed, annoyance that always seemed to be swirling in those depths doing a poor job of masking the anxiety within. Francis finally gave a robotic nod, a smile brought on by centuries of practice rising to his lips.

"Oui, I'm fine. I apologize, I thought I saw something outside."

A lie, a fairly weak one at that, but it seemed to appease Arthur. The Parisian seemed to always wear his heart on his sleeve, but after lifetimes of seduction and tactics to get woman to join him in bed, he had learned to be an expert liar. What was he supposed to say when they uttered those three fatal words but say he loved them back?

"Fine then. As I was saying earlier, Germany finally lost it. I always expected Russia to do something like this, but…" the Englishman trailed off, obviously more than a little frustrated and confused. "You'd think the lad would learn not to test his luck twice after his last failure." Heaving a tired sigh at that, he tossed the newspaper in his hands over to Francis. The Frenchman caught it easily, his eyes never leaving his lover. What was Arthur thinking about…?

For a moment, the Brit gazed around the spotless living room, as if checking to be sure any aforementioned Germans weren't lurking around, trying to listen in on their plans. Finally, after making sure the coast was clear, he sighed again, falling heavily down into a slightly overstuffed armchair. At that moment, running a hand through his messy, punkish hair and staring off into space, Arthur seemed much older than a mere twenty five. Francis almost laughed at the thought. Twenty five? The Brit was centuries old, only a bit younger than himself. He had become so absorbed in his own thoughts he almost fell into the human error of thinking the Englishman was just a young (although old fashioned) man instead of the nation of England. Something **must **be wrong with him…

"Well? Are you going to stand there all day with that stupid look on your face or are you going to read the blasted paper?"

"Oh, sorry. Got distracted again."

Francis shook himself out of his reverie, taking a seat across from the glaring Brit in an identical chair and forcing himself to look at the paper.

**HITLER INVADES POLAND! **

The headline, splashed across the top of one of Arthur's insufferable British newspapers, commanded the Frenchman's full attention. He frowned deeply at the sentence, skimming the article while his mind raced. He had known about the invasion before the papers, of course, but seeing the news in his hands so clearly made it seem all much more real. Honestly, he didn't want to believe it. Francis had always proclaimed himself to be a lover, not a fighter (which was mostly due to his abysmal military career) so the notion of war frightened him enough. And so soon after the Great War… He didn't want to fight again, never for as long as he lived his immortal life, never pick up another gun or knife or sword again.

"Francis, you know we have to fight. We can't let power like this go unchecked."

For once, the Frenchman was silent, deaf to the words of his lover. His gaze tore from the paper in his hands to the crowd of humans walking in a never ending stream below.

He was deafened by bombs and gunfire dropping from the sky in a cruel parody of rain, falling from the heavens as if from an unforgiving god.

The roar of battle almost burst his eardrums as he stood beside his fellow soldiers, mere boys defending their country with the hope to finally become men.

The dying cry of a boy who had smiled at him over breakfast as he fell to the ground rang in his ears as he watched him fall to the ground, blood bursting from where shrapnel had ripped through his chest.

The quiet noise of crying, praying, as prisoners died from bullets aimed at their unprotected foreheads, the sight of the impact like the blooming of the most vivid summer rose.

An entire generation of men wiped out in a mere four terrible, hellish years.

"Francis…?"

For a long, terrifying moment, the Frenchman was silent, eyes no longer focused on the minuet actions of humans below. He could feel the burden of an entire nation on his shoulders, the weight crushing down, suffocating him into a near oblivion. But he wasn't oblivious. He knew exactly what was going on, who he was, what he was supposed to do and what would surely happen in the future.

Not for the first time, he longed for his childhood.

That idiotic innocence of youth, when he believed he was invincible.

The days when all he cared about was what the current fashion was, what he was going to eat for dinner, what to say to annoy that strange, golden haired kid living across the channel…

But those times were gone.

"So we'll declare war, then?"

The room fell back into silence. Francis glanced over at the Englishman, eyes begging for him to lie, to pretend that war wasn't necessary, that they could just act like nothing happened…

"Yes."

OoO

oOo

OoO

Author's Note:

Yeah, that was a small hiatus… Sorry about that, by the way! I'm on vacation right now at a nice beach, so it's a bit hard to get on. Actually, this chapter's theme was supposed to be Heaven, but after writing it I just stared at it for a long moment and ripped it up. Didn't like it. Now I'm starting over, and the next three chapters have already been written so expect them to be typed up soon.

As for historical background, on September 1st, 1939 Hitler lead Germany to attack Poland (with the agreement of the Soviet Union to do so). On September 3rd of the same year, France and England declared war on Germany. And about that headline on the newspaper… Not too sure if that is an actual headline. Probably not.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, the countries of France, England, Germany, Poland, or Russia, or any other trademarked thing you may find here.

Also, sunburns hurt.


	8. Heaven

**Entering 'BlogSpot'. **

**Search: **

**Searching for 'Parisian Gentleman'.**

**1 Query Found.**

**Selecting 'Parisian Gentleman'. **

Entry 5

Date- February 8th

Time- 12:56 PM

After several weeks of deliberation (and, admittedly, procrastination), I finally decided to stop writing in my office. Or stop trying, rather. I don't know, but something about it just isn't giving me ideas anymore… And honestly, it's starting to get more than a little annoying. I know what to write, know what has to happen, but I just can't get it down on paper. So today, I decided to venture out to see what kind of places this dumb American city has to offer for writing. It's been dismal. After checking what feels like _hundreds _of internet cafés and hotel lobbies, I still haven't found the perfect place. Excuse my French, but _merde_! You'd think these Americans would be smart enough to build a nice place for aspiring writers to work. Since I haven't found a nice spot, I'm taking a break at one of the nicer cafés I found. Not a good atmosphere to write, but they make pretty good croissants.

For Americans.

By the way, starting a new section of this blog called woman of the day, in which I will describe the woman (or man) I most recently slept with!

Today's lucky lady: red head, pale skin with lots of freckles. Very feisty. She smelled of cinnamon.

oOo

Entry 9

Date- Februrary 15th

Time- 9:36 AM

I finally found it! My writing spot! I happened to be out, getting a cup of coffee when I spotted a lovely woman passing by, walking a golden retriever. The animal reminded me of my dear Dimanche (God rest his soul), so I simply had to begin a conversation. The woman was very nice (and single!), by the name of Marie. She told me her pet's name was Bourbon, and that she was just walking home from a park a block or two away. I had never heard of such a park, so after a few moments of flirting and exchanging numbers, I left to check it out. And this is it! It's a quaint park, but it's large enough so I can sit and type without getting the feeling that someone's looking over my shoulder all of the time. I think I might actually be able to churn out a few pages today! That, and I have to answer some questions from my column… If you don't know, dear reader, I have a column in the Foxgrove Times, one of the smaller newspapers of this city. I'll include a link to the website tomorrow, so you can have the pleasure of sampling my work.

Lucky lady: Long, black hair, with mocha colored skin. She had the most exotic green, almond shaped eyes. A bit of a novice in bed, sadly.

oOo

Entry 11

Date- Feburary 19th

Time- 5:31 PM

Got a call from mon petit frère Mathew today. Poor boy, he seems to be in a bit of depression. He will never admit it, though, because he knows how much it would worry me. He's such a sweetie! Maybe I should convince him to leave Canada; all of that snow and cold may be too much for him. I don't care how much he loves living up there, if he's not happy, I'll drag him all the way back to Paris myself...

When I get the money, that is… A career in journalism at a second rate paper only pays so much. At least I can afford wine, coffee, and cigarettes. Oui, it would be nice to buy the latest fashions like I used to, but… As I said, money issues.

I knew I should've never left Paris!

Ah… But enough of this sadness, I have some good news: I'm finally past the brainstorming and researching part of my novel! The park has helped tremendously! Nothing like a little bit of nature to help stimulate the imagination, non? I would tell you about the plot, but I don't want to spoil it. Here, I'll give you a little hint: It's a crime/drama/romance novel set in France. Sounds wonderful already, doesn't it? It has a dashing hero, a beautiful heroine, and more than a few erotica scenes… Can't wait to get to writing those chapters! I have plenty of ideas for them… Haha!

Lady of the day: Brunette, with green eyes and freckles across her nose by the name of Marie. Sound familiar?

oOo

Entry 20

Date- Feburary 27th

Time- 1:15 PM

I apologize for randomly skipping around on posting dates. Some days I get distracted by the prospect of women or alcohol, and on others I run out of cigarettes. It's always hard to write without nicotine in my system... Mathew wants me to stop, but I'm more than old enough to make my own decisions. Not that I'm old! Thirty two is pretty young, isn't it? Not old at all… Just old enough to be distinguished. Oui, that's the word. Distinguished.

Anyway, this morning I met the homeless man who lives in the park. I've seen him before today, but we've never exchanged words. Actually, if I hadn't seen him sleeping on one of the park benches using his jacket as a pillow, I never would've guessed he was homeless. His hair is a bit terrible, and his eyebrows _definitely _need a trimming (They look like caterpillars, I swear!), but he wears some sort of military looking suit that, although tacky, looks professional. He was strolling a path near me, and I had ordered an extra croissant (because the new waitress at my usual café is gorgeous), so I offered it to him. He thanked me, took it, and left. Hmph. I would've talked to someone who gave me food if I lived on the streets, but… Oh well. At least he's grateful.

Lady of the day: Short black hair, with dark eyes. A little on the short side, but I didn't mind. Terrific in bed!

oOo

Entry 29

Date- March 1st

Time- 6:30 PM

Finally had a conversation with that homeless man who lives in my park. And you know what? He's British! Can you believe it? All this time, I've been giving food to an ungrateful British enculé! (That's bastard, for those of you who speak English. Although you should learn French. Now.) The only reason I found out he was British was when he insulted my gorgeous hair. My hair! My hair is beautiful, thank you very much! He told me I looked like 'a nancy boy' all because I made one little comment about his eyebrows! I knew the British were so ungrateful… After a quick argument, he stomped off angrily after I insulted _his_ hair. At least my hair doesn't make me look like a punk, thank you very much. I know he doesn't deserve any of the amazing food I give him every morning, but I'll continue to generously donate my baked goods. And all of it will be French cuisine. Hah! That's what he gets!

Lady of the day: A man this time! An albino, with the most striking red eyes. Obnoxious, but funny. Impressive tattoo of a two headed eagle on his back.

oOo

Entry 35

Date- March 10th

Time- 1:29 PM

Had another argument with Arthur (that's the name of the homeless man in the park). Something about how French food is much better than English food, or something along those lines. Not much else to say, besides that. The writing's going great, like it has been for the past few weeks. I'm at chapter five now! Dieu, I better start looking for a publisher…

Lady of the day: Blonde with tan skin and dark blue eyes. Very curvy, but I'm fairly sure she had some plastic surgery done.

oOo

Entry 40

Date- March 15th

Time- 2:54 PM

Fighting with Arthur is now a daily occurrence. I don't really mind, though. It's not too bad having someone to talk to, even if he is a bad-tempered, unstylish Englishman. We even have nicknames for each other! He calls me either a 'cheese monkey' or a 'wine guzzling tool' and I call him a 'brebis galeuse' (black sheep). It's very funny to flirt with him, because his face goes the cutest shade of red and he starts to stutter. He gets really angry if you grope him! It's a bit endearing, really. I'm beginning to enjoy this park.

Lady of the day: Brunette a bit on the short side with light blue eyes. A feisty one!

oOo

Entry 51

Date- March 30th

Time- 4:53 PM

Hah! Today, I learned that Arthur's terrified of cars! Isn't that just the strangest thing? You see, when Arthur and I were having our daily argument, we somehow got on the topic of how French cars are far superior of British ones. But when I said it, instead of shooting a snide comment like he always did, Arthur just went pale and wouldn't say anything. I found one of his weaknesses! I'll have to file that tidbit away for future reference.

Lady of the day: Redhead with light green eyes. Nice enough in bed, I suppose.

oOo

Entry 60

Date- April 10th

Time- 6:36 PM

Ugh. I was out in the park today, typing and minding my own business when it started to storm! I mean lightning and pouring down buckets of rain, that type of storm. Nasty stuff. So naturally, I folded up my laptop and starting looking around for shelter, when suddenly, the raindrops stopped falling. I glanced behind me, and Arthur was there, blushing like crazy and holding an umbrella above my head. I tried to get him to use it for himself (what if he caught a cold? I doubted he had insurance.), but he just said something about how even frogs deserved to have shelter and walked away. How strange… I suppose we're friends now? That makes me a little happy, even if he is British.

Entry 79

Date- May 1st

Time- 12:32 PM

MON DIEU, I HAVE GREAT NEWS! My darling little Mattie is getting married! I'm so proud of him! I was just sitting in the park (after my daily 'conversation' with Arthur) when he called sounding all cute and shy. Here's our conversation:

Mathew: "Um… B-bonjour Francis. H-how are you?"

Me: "Bonjour! I'm fine, just writing as usual."

Mathew: "Um… Th-that's good…"

There were a few moments of silence.

Me: "Mattie, are you feeling well? You seem much more nervous than usual! Come, tell big brother what's wrong~"

Mattie: "N-nothing's wrong! It's… It's just that, um… Ar-are you coming to the wedding?"

Me: "Wedding? Who's having a wedding?"

Mattie: "You don't know? I thought I sent you the invitation… Maybe it got lost in the mail…"

Me: "Stop torturing me Mattieu, who's getting married?"

Mattie: "Umm… M-me…?"

I almost dropped the phone! It turns out that a year or two ago, mon frère met a man named Alfred who was up in Canada for a business trip (he's a sales rep of some sort) and it was all downhill from there! Turns out he had sent me the wedding invitation a few months ago, and he was worried that I didn't want to come. Of course I would come to my little Mattieu's wedding! I'm so proud of him! Dieu, I remember the days when he would just run around the house with his teddy bear, drenching everything he ate in maple syrup… I feel so old now! Ah, but now I have to run out and grab a suit, because it turns out that Mattieu's wedding is next week in Montreal. And I need a plane ticket and a wedding gift…! So much to do!

Lady of the day: Brunette with brown eyes. Met her at the subway.

oOo

Entry 83

Date- May 9th

Time- 10:24 AM

Mattieu's wedding was beautiful! It was a small service at an old Catholic church on the outskirts of the city, but mon Dieu, it was amazing. I got to walk him down the aisle and see him begin to cry a little as his husband declared his vows, and even I began to tear up! I had to console mere, she was nearly sobbing at the sight of Mattieu in his white suit, looking so cute and ready to be married. After the vows, Mattieu and his husband ran down the aisle and we all headed to the reception at a nearby restaurant. I have to say, Mattieu looked so happy when he began to take his first dance… It killed me to see my little brother so grown up… After awhile, I sat down to enjoy a nice glass of champagne, and Alfred (Mattieu's husband) came to sit next to me. He looked tired, but happy. As he propped his feet up on a nearby chair, he told me how Mattieu was off being congratulated by friends so he left to get a bit of air.

We started a conversation, and I became happier and happier for Mathew. Alfred is cheerful and outgoing (although he can get a bit annoying), so he's a perfect counterpart to my brother. I can see how they bring out the best in each other.

It turns out, they met at the little coffee shop where Mattieu works. Alfred stopped in there for coffee and came back every morning after that. (Something about how 'Mattie made the perfect cup of joe, dude!') Then they started flirting, Mattieu staring giving him discounts, and soon Alfred asked him out on a date. Dieu, I'm so proud of mon petite Mattieu~ Just the expression on Alfred's face when he looked at him melted my heart. It was just so loving, so trusting…

Perhaps I should think of settling down myself…

Lady of the day: A man with dark skin and brown hair. He has the most sultry Spanish accent I've ever heard in my life.

oOo

Entry 84

Date- May 10th

Time- 11:08 PM

Oh, I almost forgot to mention another thing about Mattieu's wedding. While Alfred and I were talking, and the strangest thing happened. You see, Alfred made a comment on how he wished his brother could've seen him be married. I was sympathetic (after all, I knew how it felt after père died), and Alfred dug through his pockets and showed me a picture of his older brother. Here's the strange part: He looked exactly like Arthur. He had the same blonde hair, the green eyes and even those horrendous eyebrows. If that wasn't strange enough, Alfred said his name was Arthur! I wanted to ask him more, but Mattieu came over looking so angelic and content I couldn't bear to press for questions.

After all, it was probably just a coincidence.

Oui?

oOo

Entry 85

Date- May 11th

Time- 6:31 PM

I'm back at home now! You should've seen it; when I went to the park where I always write, Arthur was sitting on my bench, looking all angry and irritation. But when he saw me, he pretended to be even angrier, but you could just tell he was smiling with his eyes. We had a quick fight (about how I was lazy and good for nothing), but it was over much sooner than the others. After it, he took his usual croissant and began to eat in that silent, dignified manner of his, so I just leaned back and enjoyed the morning. After a while, he dabbed his mouth daintily with a napkin and muttered, "Th-thanks, frog. I… I missed you." I was shocked! I stared over at him in shock, but he wouldn't meet my eyes. His face was the brightest shade of red I've ever seen. A few moments later, I smiled at him, then made a teasing comment. "Oh mon cherie, are you finally falling for me?" At that he blushed even harder, gave me a swift uppercut to the stomach, and stomped away shouting about 'stupid frogs'.

It hurt like hell, but it was worth it.

oOo

Entry 93

Date- May 25th

Time- 4:50 PM

I couldn't help myself. Remember how Alfred told me about his brother, and he looked exactly the same as Arthur? Well, that conversation has been bugging me for a long, long time, so I started searching for more information. Dieu… What I found… That poor family. Arthur and Alfred's parents had a harsh divorce, and, shortly afterwards, the father committed suicide. I can't imagine how that would feel… And to add to that, a few years later Arthur died in a car accident. He was walking in his neighborhood late one night and got hit by a truck. Never stood a chance.

Dieu, I can't stop thinking about what I would do if Mathew died. I've never really thought about it before, but it's like that boy is the only thing keeping me sane…

oOo

Entry 96

Date- May 29th

Time- 11:46 PM

I've been thinking, and I don't think that the relation between Alfred's dead brother and the Arthur I know is a coincidence. Oui, I know it sounds insane, but… Look at the evidence:

They look exactly the same

Arthur's terrified of cars. Wouldn't that make sense if he was **hit **by one?

Oui, I know that's not much to go on, but I still have this nagging suspicion…

Tomorrow, I'll ask Arthur a few questions.

I'll keep you posted.

Entry 97

Date- May 30th

Time- 5:32 PM

I couldn't do it.

I went to the park this morning, primed to ask questions and not take no for an answer, but when I got there… Arthur, he was sitting on the bench I always sit on with his usual scowl, arms crossed in pretend anger. I gave him his usual croissant and began to eat my own. For a while, it was quiet between us. I let him get comfortable, then made my first attack.

"You know, my petit frère Mathew was married a few weeks ago. I'm so proud of him. He met this man named Alfred, and the two are so cute together!" As I was talking, he looked ready to make a rude comment, but he paused at the name Alfred. He was quiet for a long moment, staring down at his croissant. The expression on his face… He looked so… regretful. Then he said, "Ah... That's good," We were silent for a few minutes. I actually began to regret what I said. I was even about to change the topic, but he began to speak.

"I have a little brother named Alfred, you know… We never did get along." He smiled a bit, but it made him more regretful than happy. "We fought over the dumbest things… What to wear, how to act, what was _proper_." He laughed bitterly at that. "He eventually just left, and then I realized just how damn pathetic I am without anyone around."

For once, I had no idea what to say. What do you say to something like that? I couldn't just start interrogating him, no while he was so torn up. So I just stayed quiet and wrapped my arms around him.

He didn't push me away.

oOo

Entry 102

Date- June 9th

Time- 3:40 PM

I think something's wrong with me.

Things have changed between Arthur and I. When we're together, we still argue, but now it feels different. We sound more like an old married couple when we fight, not two enemies. He doesn't push me away nearly as often, and more often than not, I even see him _smiling _over at me when he thinks I'm not looking! Arthur. Smiling!

That, and I can't write anymore. Every time I sit down to type, I suddenly start thinking of how trivial the story is. Trivial. How can the plot I once thought was brilliant seem so dull? I'm even falling behind at work! I'm falling behind on my column, all because I'm spending hours and hours at the park doing nothing but talking to Arthur. I'm noticing things I've never noticed before, like how Arthur's eyes are the color of fields of clover in springtime or how cute he looks when he blushes or how he tries to hide how happy he is whenever he sees me…

I'm getting too caught up in it all, too caught up in him, but I can't stop. Arthur's like a drug, a drug even more powerful than the nicotine in the cigarettes I used to smoke. (Arthur hates the smell of cigarettes.)

Mon Dieu.

I need some wine.

oOo

Entry 108

Date- June 20th

Time- 10:23 AM

I talked to Mathew and Alfred last night via a webcam. It was so nice to see my little brother's face again, especially with how happy he is. He and Alfred told me about how they had just moved into their new house, a little place just outside of Montreal, not too far from where they were married. They told me about their honeymoon in Hawaii (Alfred made a few comments that made Mathew blush), and about their new neighborhood and renovations they planned for the house… After a while, Mathew excused himself to walk the dog, and it was just Alfred and I. And… Well, I couldn't help it. I gently nudged the conversation in the right direction, then asked how his brother died.

I wished I had never asked.

The expression on his face suddenly changed, and he looked so sad, just as Arthur had when I mentioned him.

"Oh, Artie…? He died a while back… We were always at each other's throats, you know? Never got along about anything. Then one time, we had a really bad fight about something stupid like hair or clothes or something, and I stormed out of the house. And… Well, I guess he was coming to get me, but on the way he got hit by a car... Damn bastard never saw him." He just sighed at that, and shook his head. "Poor dude. I miss him a lot… Y'know, he seemed like the grouchiest old guy, but he was too nice for his own good. One time, he made me a set of toy soldiers for my birthday and even broke his arm doing it!" Alfred laughed at the memory. "We were a mess when we were younger… This one time, I was crying hardcore because I broke my tricycle and mom and dad wouldn't get me another, so Artie spent his entire allowance to buy me a new one. But by then I didn't even like riding bikes anymore, and he was so mad when I never rode it!"

I chuckled at that, imagining a younger Arthur shouting at Alfred, calling him all the names he called me.

"Yeah… I miss him like hell. But he probably doesn't miss me… I was just some twerp who always got in his way."

And I, being the stupid man I am, busted out with: "Non! Alfred, he really cared for you... He wishes he could take it all back."

Alfred looked at me as if I was crazy.

"Whaddya mean? You don't know-"

Then he was pounced on by he and Mathew's Dalmatian, followed by a laughing Mattieu, and the conversation stopped there.

oOo

Entry 109

Date- June 21st

Time- 9:49 AM

Now I know it for sure. Arthur's stuck here for some reason, and I have to make it right. He doesn't deserve to be here. It sounds insane, it sounds like I'm a total nutcase, but I can't help but think it's true. Arthur's dead. He needs to move on, go to heaven or hell, if either really exists. Although I can't imagine mon ange in hell. Non, he's too nice for that. He deserv

"_Good morning, Frog. How's your pointless novel going?" _

_Francis glances up from his frantic typing to see Arthur standing over him, the slightest of smiles on his face. _

"_Oh… Fine." The Frenchman weakly replies, shutting his laptop and tucking it into the messenger bag hanging from the back of the bench. Arthur casts him a strange look at the tone, taking the seat beside him. _

"_Hm? What's wrong? Did the cheese monkey finally run out of wine?" he teases. _

_Francis is silent at that, staring down at his feet instead of at his friend. The Englishman frowns, noticing how pale the other's face is, how there are dark circles under those pristine blue eyes. He hesitantly places a hand on his shoulder, staring at the man anxiously. _

"_Francis..? Are you okay?" _

_At first, Francis doesn't answer. He glances over at Arthur, and the other almost winces at the look in his eyes. He has never seen the Frenchman look so lost. _

"_Arthur… Are you..." He falters for a moment. "Dead?" _

_Arthur pales, staring at his friend disbelievingly. _

"_Uh… Wh-why would you think that? Of course I'm not dead." He forces a laugh, discomfort painfully obvious. "You're such a strange chap! Are you smoking something else beside those vile cigarettes?" _

_Francis stays quiet, eyes never wavering from Arthur's. After a long, painful moment, Arthur's false smile finally falls. _

"_I… Um… H-how did you…?" He trails off, as if to finish the sentence would pain him. _

"_My little brother. He's married to Alfred Jones."_

_The truth suddenly dawns on Arthur. _

"_Ah… Alfred…" He shifts his gaze, staring down at his lap. "God…" _

"_He misses you." _

_Arthur doesn't look up, instead giving a bitter laugh. _

"_You're awfully good at lying, frog. There's no way in hell my little brother would actually miss me." _

_Francis reached over, taking Arthur's face in his hands. _

"_Arthur, look at me." _

_The Englishman hesitates, but finally, green eyes travel up to meet blue. _

"_Alfred adores you. He said so himself." _

_Arthur pauses as if to take in the words, then glares at Francis, pushing the Frenchman away as he furiously leaps to his feet. _

"_Stop it!" he hisses, hands curling into fists. "You don't know anything about us!"_

_Francis waits a few moments, then stands, staring down at his friend. _

"_Alfred told me about how you broke his arm when you made him a whole set of toy soldiers for his birthday."_

"_Yes, well, that doesn't mean-!" _

"_He said that when you two were little, he broke his tricycle, so you saved up your allowance for months to buy him another." _

_Arthur falters at that. _

"_But-" _

"_He said he misses you terribly." _

"_I… He… He does…?" _

_Francis nods, stepping closer to the Englishman. _

"_He really does." _

_Tears begin to rise in Arthur's eyes, and for just a moment, he stands alone, rocking back and forth on his heels. But then he runs to Francis, letting himself be enveloped in his warm arms. _

_The two are quiet for a long, long time, Francis rocking back and forth and whispering assurances to Arthur as he sobs into his chest, staining his shirt with tears. Francis strokes the other's hair, holding the other so close to him, wishing that-_

"_I-i ruined your clothes…" Arthur mumbles after a while, pulling back slightly to wipe his eyes. Francis smiles, fishing a handkerchief from his pocket and handing it over. _

"_Non, don't worry about it. It's not that important to me." _

_Arthur smiles at that, cleaning his face with the small snatch of cloth before staring up at the Frenchman with eyes red from crying. _

"_Francis… Thank you." _

_Francis tightens his grip around the Englishman, suddenly fearing the worst. _

"_Do you…?" _

_He leaves the question open, the look in his eyes akin to desperation. Arthur bites his lip, hugging Francis close as he nods. _

"_Yes… I've been here far too long for my own good."_

_Francis heaves a shaky sigh, pressing his face in Arthur's hair. Dieu… For the first time, he realizes that Arthur smells of blooming clover, with just a hint of Earle Grey tea. _

"_I was afraid of that." _

"_Don't worry, chap, it's not your fault. I was set to leave soon anyway… I was wondering how to tell you goodbye." _

"_You were…?"_

"_Yes. I've done my time." _

_Francis pulls away, eyes meeting those of the Englishman. He has so many questions… But he can't ask them, not when he has such little time. _

"_Arthur, I-" _

_He's cut off by the sound of ringing church bells, the sound powerful, sounding as if they came from inside his head rather than from any mortal place. _

_Arthur sighs in frustration, glancing up at the overcast sky with a frown. _

"_Francis, I have to leave."_

_The Frenchman's frown deepens, his eyes widening in horror as Arthur gently pulls away. _

"_But mon cherie…"he protests. _

"_Francis… I have to go now. Thank you for making my last months enjoyable." _

_The Englishman smiles up at him, caught in a ray of sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees above. With trembling hands, Francis brushes a lock of hair from Arthur's face, completely lost in the other's angelic smile. _

_Slowly, unbelievably, Arthur begins to lean closer. Francis' heart races as he feels his breath on his face, smells the tea on the other's breath, and he slowly closes his eyes._

_Their lips press together in a tender kiss, where all Francis is aware of is Arthur, and all he cares about is the Englishman before him. When he opens his eyes, he's standing alone on a little path in the park. _

"_Arthur…" he whispers, one hand resting on his lips. _

"_Je t'aime."_

_Then, as if it's just a whisper on the wind, he hears three little words he's waited his whole life to hear. _

"_I love you." _

oOo

oOo

oOo

oOo

oOo

oOo

Entry 201

Date- December 30th

Time- 11:55 PM

Another year come and gone.

It's hard to believe it's almost been a year since I've starting writing this. But, as all good things must come to an end, this will too. My new book's being published in a few days, and I'm afraid things will start getting too crazy for me to write here anymore. So everyone, I've been hinting at the plot long enough. Here's the basics:

A born and bred Parisian moves to America in order to write the bestseller he always dreamed. When he gets there, however, he is stuck in a dead end job as a journalist for a small newspaper, and falls victim to the obsessions of lust, alcohol, and drugs. He's about to give up when he's greeted by an unusual Englishman, who changed his life forever…

If you've been keeping up to date and reading this, don't think you know how it ends.

This is the story of what should have happened, the ending that was never able to exist.

Merci for staying with me so long.

À la prochaine,

_Francis Bonnefoy _

**End of 'Parisian Gentleman'. **


	9. Drive

"Bloody hell!"

Arthur began coughing violently, waving his hands in a desperate attempt to clear the air as he backed away from his car. The open hood was unseen behind the large clouds of dark, foul smelling smoke billowing from an undoubtedly overheated engine. He was on the shoulder of a long road way out in the British countryside, nothing out for miles but rolling hills and the occasional sheep. His drive, which he had expected to go on without any trouble, was ruined when his automobile had begun to make some incredibly worrying, strangled groans similar to that of a dying man. After pulling over to check the problem, he discovered that the engine was on fire. And to top it off, the Brit's once immaculate appearance was ruined by the mess, giving him the appearance of a coal miner or the chimney sweeps his country was famous for.

"Wonderful!" he spat between coughs, glaring at the smoking car as if it were somehow the inanimate object's fault for breaking down when he needed it most. "This is **exactly **what I needed."

Unsurprisingly, not even complete and total sarcasm could lighten his mood.

He was already exhausted; America had visited last night and stayed much too late and forced him to drink far too much. Actually, he had planned to sleep off his hangover today and do nothing but lay around his house and read, or perhaps work on some embroidery… But at **5 AM **in the **bloody** morning he was woken from the most wonderful dream to a bellowing Scotsman. He was so disoriented that all he retained from the strange call was the offering of alcohol, an order to be at the other's house by nightfall, and something about sheep… When the Englishman was finally conscious, he shuddered at the mention of the animal. His eldest brother's famous (or rather, infamous) love of sheep was honestly quite… Disturbing.

But there was no way he could refuse a request from the Scot.

Yes, somewhere deep down inside of him, he loved his brother and knew that the red headed giant of a man felt the same, but that was masked by a much stronger emotion…

Fear.

Although Arthur was now much more powerful (military wise) than Liam, he still retained a good deal of childhood fear from the man. Years of being bullied as a child tended to stick for an awfully long time, mind you. He shuddered at the very thought of confronting his brother, with an excuse for why he was late…

"_So, that's your excuse, eh Artie?"_

_The Scotsman's voice would be quiet, dangerous as he loomed over the small body of his little brother._

"_Um… Y-yes, I'm really quite sorry, brother. It won't happen again, I pro-"_

"_Aye, and next time I want tae see my wee, precious little brother, he'll be sick? Or down with a girl, or too busy with work, or something of the like, aye?"_

"_N-no! That isn't it at all, I just-"_

"_What, and now you're lying tae me?"_

_Then Liam would roughly push the Englishman, bending the other over a table and handcuffing his hands to the legs as the smaller man struggled to regain his balance. He would back up as if to admire his handiwork as Arthur squirmed, desperately trying to free himself._

_"Br-brother? Wh-what in the bloody world are you doing?"_

"_It seems I have tae teach my ungrateful wee twerp of a brother some manners, dan't I?"_

"_Wh-what! No! D-don't be so unreasonable, chap, I'm sure we can work something out, can't-"_

_As he craned his head, he would just be able to see his brother pull out a thick wooden paddle with the most insane grin on his face._

"_This'll teach yah, eh Artie?"_

"_WAIT! NO! NO!"_

"_NOOOOOOO!"_

Arthur's eyes widened at the thought, heart suddenly picking up speed.

No, he couldn't let that happen!

Last time he couldn't sit right for weeks!

So, although he was a complete novice on the subject of cars and the parts therein, as soon as the smoke had dissipated to a reasonable amount he cautiously crept forward to inspect the engine. Eyes as green as the clover of his homeland inspected the twisting tubes, the engine shining dully in the rare sunlight, the space where the last traces of smoke trickled away…

After ten long, silent minutes, he gave up.

"Stupid automobile!" he shouted, kicking an innocent tire with his foot. Damn it all; he really should've learned more about the infernal things from Alfred while he had the chance! At times like this, he really missed the beautiful simplicity of a horse drawn carriage… He sighed in part annoyance and part nostalgia, slowly retrieving a cell phone from his trouser pocket. He supposed there was nothing he could do but call the annoying American himself. After all, his little brother was quite obsessed with the damned invention of cars. He'd tell him how to fix it, and then the Englishman could be on his merry way.

For several moments he stared at the blank screen.

"Wait a tick… Why isn't it-?"

Suddenly, it occurred to him.

He hadn't charged it last night.

"FOR THE LOVE OF-!"

A truck roaring from the road behind him drowned out the rest of his expletive.

It took five minutes of cursing for the Englishman to finally calm down (and let's just say he was very lucky there was no one around; he had learned quite a few vulgar words from his days as a pirate.)

"God damn it…" he trailed off with an annoyed mutter, running a hand through his hair. One by one, Arthur mentally checked off the aspects of his situation.

He was stuck in the middle of nowhere with a dead cell phone and a smoking car.

There was nothing around for miles but hills, sheep, and the tiny dirt road he had arrived on.

And there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that he would be late for whatever Liam had in plan for him.

He was (in the words of the new generation) screwed.

"Dammit."

Arthur closed the hood of his small, English-made car, taking a seat on the front of the black automobile as he drew a handkerchief from his breast pocket. As he cleaned the smoky residue from his face, his mind searched for the most logical solution.

Walking would take far too long in either direction; if he tried, he wouldn't make it to either he or Liam's house until after nightfall.

He didn't posses a car charger for his phone, and as far as he knew, there were no houses or buildings of some sort where he could search for a way to call for help.

So that left him with only one option.

He slid off the car with an angry huff, tucking his handkerchief back where he had found it. Gaze turning to the dusty road ahead, his frown intensified as he stuck his thumb out in the unmistakable sign of a hitchhiker.

Damn that Scotsman, reducing him to this…

But there was nothing he could do now but sit and wait for someone to come to his rescue.

He just hoped that whoever it was would come soon...

oOo

_**Five Hours Later**_

oOo

"Please stop, I just really-"

Arthur was cut off by the automobile rushing by him, the machine making no signs of stopping as it raced down the abandoned road.

"Yeah, well damn you too! I hope you have fun burning in hell alongside the Yanks!"

He leaned against his car with a tired groan, wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve. There weren't many cars that came across this tiny back road, and the ones who did contained drivers too inconsiderate to pick up their fellow man off the side of the road, or at least offer him a phone call. Plus, the sun was inching closer to closer to the horizon, each moment filling the Englishman with indescribable dread. There was no way he was going to make it to Liam's house in time, **no way**. Scenes of the Scotsman beating him to a bloody pulp replayed over and over in his mind, each new edition more gruesome than the one before. God… Why him…?

The Briton perked up when he saw another car emerge in his range of vision, but his hopes plummeted as it drew near. It was a sports car of some sort, painted in the most vivid shade of red. There was no way someone driving such an expensive looking machine would stop for some person stuck on the side of the road… Hell, **he** wouldn't even stop if he saw someone in need of a ride. So he merely sighed and leaned against his own car instead of flailing his arms around in the most ridiculous gesture possible to warrant attention as he had been doing, eyes beginning to droop.

He was more than surprised when the automobile slid to a smooth stop before him.

Arthur stared disbelievingly at it, as if the chance he had waited for was just another wayward figment of his imagination. He swore, if this was some sort of hallucination, someone was going to die in the next five minutes… But he smiled nonetheless, straightening up and dusting off his coat.

"Thank you, thank you so much, you have no idea how much this means-"

Just as he was thanking his savior, the heavily tinted driver's side window rolled down and a man grinned as he leaned his head out of the car, lowering his sunglasses so he could look at the Englishman.

"The pleasure's all mine, mon ange~"

Arthur simply stared at Francis Bonnefoy, eyes growing unbelievably wide.

God. Damn. It.

"You bloody cheese eating surrender monkey! What the hell are you doing here!" England hissed, backing away from the Frenchman as if he carried the plague. Rather than be offended by the less than polite greeting, Francis faked a pout, folding up his sunglasses to fully meet the furious gaze of his rival.

"Is that any way to greet your ride? You don't want to keep Liam waiting, do you? He's quite furious."

Arthur, who had so far been preparing a snappy comeback of some sort, faltered.

"He… He is?"

Francis nodded seriously, giving the Briton a seemingly sympathetic frown.

"Oui. He mentioned something about you, handcuffs… A paddle. I dunno mon cherie, but it sounds awfully kinky to me."

Arthur glared at the other for his, the Frenchman's ever present need to be completely and totally perverted grating against his nerves, just like it always did.

"Wait, how do you know about my meeting with Liam?" he asked suspiciously, watching his greatest rival through narrowed eyes. Again, Francis seemed completely immune to the venom in his voice or his overwhelming suspicion, which only further annoyed the Brit.

"He invited me to go drinking with you two."

Actually, the answer didn't seem too farfetched. Arthur was well aware of the older countries' friendship with one another, although he honestly didn't understand it.

"So, what? You saw me by the road and decided to just give me a ride?" he spat, voice dripping with sarcasm. The older nation merely nodded at the accusing tone, shooting him an all too innocent smile.

"Am I not allowed to help my fellow county? Now come, we better hurry before Liam completely loses his temper~"

The threat reached Arthur despite the sing song tone, and he couldn't help but shudder. As much as he hated Francis (and he hated him so, _so_ much), his utter and absolute loathing for the French was overcome by his fear of large, possibly drunken Scotsmen.

So there was nothing left for him to do but cross over the other side of the car with a sigh and open the passenger door.

…That is, if it would actually open.

After a few unsuccessful tries, he glared at Francis as the man rolled down the other window, more than a little annoyed at the hold up.

"What the hell France? I thought you said you were going to give me a ride!"

"Oui, I did."

"Well than unlock the bloody door!"

"Oh, mon cherie, I said I would give you a ride to Liam's. I never said it was free."

Arthur's shocked, slightly devastated expression was in stark contrast to the smirk on Francis' face.

"Wh-what in the world do you want?" he finally hissed, although the look in his eyes made it clear that he knew all too well what the Frenchman wanted. After knowing his greatest rival for so, so long, he knew very well what Francis' less than pure intentions were…

"I'll take my usual price, Arthur~ Strip."

The Englishman immediately backed off, walking back to sit on the hood of his car.

"I'd never do something so improper! Forget it, I'll take my chances."

Francis pouted at the refusal, not too attached to the idea of losing a potential victim.

"You don't want to be late to Liam's place, do you?

Arthur stayed quiet, crossing his arms and looking away as if the Frenchman didn't exist.

"He said something about paddles… And handcuffs."

No reaction.

Well, no visible reaction: On the inside Arthur was fretting and imagining wild scenarios involving his hulking brother, but he refused to let it show.

"Don't you wish to avoid the pain?"

"I'd feel more pain at being naked in front of you, Frog."

The Frenchman's frown deepened at that, and he leaned back into his seat with a huff.

"It's not like I haven't seen you naked before…"

Arthur's face flushed a deep shade of red at that, because (however much he loathed to admit it) there was a last time, and a time before that and a time before that…

All times when he had, to put it simply, 'become one' with the Frenchman he despised.

"I prefer to keep moments like that to a minimum. Just because you enjoy walking around like a bloody nudist doesn't mean everyone else has to."

"Oui, but you enjoyed being naked with me last month. I mean really mon cherie, the sounds you were making were oh so lovely~"

Arthur suddenly paled, then blushed furiously, the sudden change of color amusing Francis to no end.

"WH-WHAT?" he sputtered as the Parisian began to laugh.

"Hoh hoh hoh hoh hoh… What? You don't remember? You were lying on my bed without a stitch of clothing, staring up at me with those big eyes and begging, 'Francis, oh Francis, inva-'"

"Fine! If it'll shut your froggy mouth." Arthur interrupted, expression a cross between flustered and annoyed as he slid off of the roof of his car. Francis' usual pleased smile returned, and he adjusted himself in the seat so he could rest his elbows on the car door, his face cradled in his hands as if he were a child. The motion somehow made the Englishman blush deepen, and he glanced around to make sure no one else was looking. Oh God, what would he do if someone was watching him getting naked for the bloody Frenchman? He'd never get over the embarresment, no matter _how_ long he lived…

But the road (and the fields surrounding it) were empty.

Arthur heaved a resigned sigh, shrugging off his jacket and placing it neatly on his car. God, he couldn't believe he was doing this, he couldn't believe it…! His face flushed crimson as he slowly began to unbutton his crisp white shirt. Meanwhile, Francis was just smiling as if he was having the best time of his _bloody_ life. Arthur was sure to shoot a glare at him, but it was offset by a shiver as the cool air met his bare chest.

"Mm, Angeleterre, have you been working out?" Francis teased, eliciting another scowl from the Brit.

"You're just jealous that I'm in top shape, frog." He scoffed, kneeling down and untying both of his shoes.

"What do you mean by that? I exercise all the time."

Arthur rolled his eyes at that, stuffing his socks into his loafers and laying them along his jacket.

"I would hardly consider chasing girls exercise."

Francis raised his eyebrows, giving Arthur a seemingly innocent look at the accusation.

"What? Non, not chasing girls, Angeleterre… I was referring to sex."

The Frenchman laughed as he got a thick, military jacket thrown in his face, the material blocking the view of Arthur's ruddy cheeks.

"SH-SHUT IT! God, do you ever shut that froggy mouth?" Arthur shot, glaring as Francis pulled the jacket off of his face.

"I could make a comment on how much you enjoy my 'froggy mouth' but you're forgetting something~" Francis sang, smirking over at the Briton. Arthur blushed again, glancing down at his trousers.

"H-hush up. I was just getting to that…"

Honestly, he had hoped (very foolishly) that Francis would just settle for him without a shirt.

But he knew the Frenchman much, _much_ better than that…

He undid the first button on his trousers, face burning with heat. Maybe if he did it quickly and just got it over with, it wouldn't be so embarrassing… Yeah, just do it quickly, like ripping off a Band Aid…

So he quickly kicked off the pants, steadfastly ignoring the Frenchman's wolf whistles at the sight of his Union Jack boxers. God, he just needed to let it be done with, just wanted it to be over… Taking a deep breath, internally shouting at himself for what he was about to do, he pulled down his boxers.

For several long, antagonizing moments, he stood there, stark naked, as the Frenchman looked him over, that perverse smile never leaving his idiotic face.

"A-are you finished?" he snapped, leaning down to pull up his underwear.

"Mm, not quite." Francis hummed, taking out a sleek digital camera. "Just stay still for a moment…"

"WHAT? NO!"

The Frenchman gave a cry of pain as he received a crushing blow to the face, the camera being snatched from his hand and launched out to the surrounding fields with the strength of a nation.

"Awww…" He pouted at the sight of the broken remains of his camera as Arthur pulled his clothes back on, gingerly rubbing his aching cheek. "I had some good pictures of Roderich on there… One of him sleeping and one of him playing the piano and even a delicious one of him in the shower…"

Arthur finally slid into the passenger seat with a huff, slamming the door behind him.

"Oh, just shut your mouth. Let's get going before Liam decides to kill the both of us." He grumbled, putting his seatbelt on as if nothing just happened. A slight smile came to Francis' lips at that, and he nodded, putting on his own seatbelt as he started the car.

"Oui, wouldn't want to make him angry~"

As he began to drive in the direction of the Scotsman's house, he dug into his pocket and tossed Arthur his cell phone.

"Here, you should call a tow truck to pick up that scrap of junk metal you consider a car."

"It's ecologically friendly, Frog! And it's just the right size for me, as I don't need to pick up every bloody harlot on the side of the road." The Englishman snapped in return, catching the phone.

He was just about to dial the nearest car shop when an alert flashed across the screen.

_Message from Alfred Jones_

_Ignore or Open?_

Alfred? Why would he be messaging France…? He knew he had no business in the affairs of his little brother and his rival, he couldn't help but be curious. Glancing at the Frenchman to be sure he wasn't looking, Arthur opened the text.

_Lol, np Frenchie! Messing with Artie's car was easy. Take some nekkid pics of him 4 me! :D Lmao!_

It took the old fashioned Brit a few moments to decipher the lingo.

He suddenly glared over at the Frenchman, absolute fury filling him up as his rival cast him a confused look.

"Well? Aren't you going t-"

"YOU BASTARD!"

Francis soon realized that it was very, very hard to drive while someone was choking you.

oOo

OoO

oOo

OoO

First off, apologies/excuses: Sorry this is a week (and a day) late… Last week, a girl named Irene stormed good old VA and my power was out for a while. That, and I was busy the rest of the time spending time with friends I haven't seen in a while.

Second is general news: I head back to school tomorrow. I don't think this should mess with updates too much, because I usually update on Sundays, so… Just a warning, I guess.

Third is thoughts about the chapter: Yeah, this was a lot harder than I thought it would be… Not because I had to make up Liam, but because the strip scene was very annoying to write… The ending's a bit rushed too, sorry about that. If you get that I based Liam's accent off of the Wee Free Men from the Terry Pratchett novels, you win.

I do not own Hetalia or any trademarked thing mentioned.


	10. Breathe Again

Another long, horrific day.

In a large suburban neighborhood, a young man slipped out of the window of his second floor bedroom, landing neatly on the pristine layer of new fallen snow. He straightened up, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he glanced back up at the house. Gaze focusing on a different window, he caught the eye of a red headed man typing rapidly on a small laptop. His older brother stared back at him, then nodded, leaving the room and closing the window in Arthur's bedroom.

Liam could be such a git sometimes, but at least he understood when his little brother needed some help.

Crouching down to avoid being seen from the living room window, Arthur snuck to the front yard, wincing as he heard yelling from inside. They were still at it, just as they had been for the last two hours. He could easily pick out the loud, guttural growl of his father, the shrill shrieks of his mother, the shouted arguments from his brother...

He shook his head as he reached the road. No, he needn't concern himself with this fight. It was Alfred's fault anyway, he shouldn't have been so careless… Didn't he know that their parents were so easy to set off?

The boy sighed at that, beginning to set off in a seemingly random direction. Sometimes, he would recall the days when they had been a normal family… His parents, Liam, Alfred, the twins, himself…. They used to be so happy.

When had it all gone apart?

Perhaps it all began that one day, when his father and mother had a bit of a tiff, and his father had stormed out that night with bloody scratches across his cheek. The next morning, his had mother served breakfast with a black eye and the announcement that their father was gone for business for a week.

Sometimes, Arthur wished he had just stayed away.

Yes, he loved his father, and how could he not? The red headed man was so big and gentle and cheerful… He was just impossible not to love. But sometimes, Arthur just hated him and his mother both.

He shook his head at this, chastising himself for thinking that. No, he wasn't supposed to think like that. He was here to walk, to forget.

Arthur took a long, deep breath, the freezing air burning his lungs. At least it was finally quiet. No shouting to hurt his ears, to assault his senses… The only sounds were the crunch of snow beneath his feet and the rustling of the bare branches overhead. Finally, he could relax, let his guard down…

But inside of his head, thoughts were screaming louder and louder.

'_How could you just leave Alfred behind like that? You need to take care of your brothers, not leave them behind like a useless coward.'_

"No," Arthur muttered to himself. "It wasn't my fault. Alfred shouldn't have been such a git…"

How was it his fault that he had told their homophobic parents about his boyfriend Mathew? Of course they were going to shout at him for that…

'_But you still should've helped him. You promised yourself that you would take care of them all. How does running away help them at all? You're such a spineless fool.'_

Arthur didn't have an answer to that.

He merely stared down as his feet as they moved robotically under him. He just needed to keep walking, just needed to get away…

'_You don't deserve them. They'd be happier if you were just gone. With one less mouth to feed, no doubt they would stop fighting.' _

The memory of cooking scones with his mother rose to his mind. He could still see her laughing, shaking her long, wheat blonde hair as she saw the burnt bits of charcoal that he proudly held up to her.

'_That was a long time ago. Things have changed.' _

Arthur saw himself fighting with Alfred, with Liam, one of the twins, his parents…

He always tried so hard to shield his brothers from the fighting.

Every broken plate was his fault, every chore left undone was because of him, every bad grade was a result of his distraction, everything to keep his loved ones from being hurt…

'_They don't need you. Your brothers will get on fine without you.'_

But… He couldn't live without his brothers…

'_Then maybe you don't need to live at all.' _

Arthur finally stopped in his tracks.

No, this wasn't what he wanted to think of.

He had to live, right? He needed to stay, if only for the sake of his brothers… Even if they needed him less and less, they still needed him.

'_Think about it, Arthur: Do you think maybe you need them more than they need you?' _

No! No, that wasn't it at all!

Arthur gripped his head, fingers tangling in the roots of his hair as his mouth opened in a silent scream.

He wanted to bang his head against a wall until the voice stopped talking. He wanted to scream his uselessness and frustration to the sky until he could no longer speak. He wanted to make them all stop fighting and go back to being happy and normal and peaceful…

But he did none of these things.

He merely stood there, clutching his head as he rocked back and forth on his heels, silent as the night around him.

Never before had he hated himself so much. He shouldn't be here moping while his brother was being attacked. Alfred needed him to help.

Arthur shut his mouth, slowly lowering his hands.

He shouldn't be out. Finally, he shivered at the cold wind, turning back to the direction of his house. No, he should walk back now, before these thoughts overtook him and forced him to do something stupid…

'_I'm not forcing you to do anything. I am you, after all.' _

No, no it wasn't. He never used to think about death, wish for it like he did now. It wasn't a part of him.

'_How do you know? Maybe you're just insane.' _

Arthur began to walk, although much slower than before.

'_After all, you're already weak and idiotic and unloved, so why not add insanity to the list?' _

Damn it all. That voice just wouldn't shut up!

'_What are you so angry about? I'm just telling you the truth. It's not my fault you're too blind to see the truth when it's right in front of you.' _

He shrugged off the thought, trying to ignore it.

'_I'm trying to help you. The sooner you see that no one actually needs you anymore, the sooner you can get over it. Here, let me say it slower: No. One. Needs. You.'_

The boy stopped walking.

'_Are you actually starting to listen to the truth? Alfred stopped needing you a long time ago. The twins stopped needing you a long time ago. Liam never needed you in the first place. You're just taking up useless space. You should just end it a-'_

Suddenly, the voice he always listened so intently to sounded so far away.

Arthur looked up from his boots, glancing around at the cookie cutter houses and the snowy landscape.

Just out of the range of his hearing, he swore he heard…

Music.

But it was so late, and mostly everyone was asleep but now, so it couldn't have been real…

Maybe he **was **insane.

But Arthur turned, taking a step to the source, hearing the tune grow clearer.

It appeared to come from one of the dark houses, and as he stepped off the road and approached the fence blocking off the backyard, he couldn't help but notice a perfect square of light on the snow blanketed ground.

Someone was actually awake this late? It surprised him, really. And playing music with the window open… It was mid-December. Why would someone do that while it was so cold…?

He could just barely hear what sounded like a violin and a piano playing in harmony, their music twining together to form some perfect, lingering melody.

But he needed to get closer.

Arthur hesitated, hands unconsciously grasping the top of the fence. This was unbelievably stupid. What if he got caught? He would be taken to the police for snooping around on someone's property, all because he wanted to listen to some damned music. It was stupid, idiotic, reckless, dangerous…

It wasn't even like him! He would never trespass. Hell, he wouldn't even be walking around this late. He should just go back home and stop all of this nonsense. The boy took his hands off the fence, turning to walk back to the road.

'_Well, it's not like anyone needs you anyway.' _

He stopped in his tracks.

Damn it all.

Arthur turned on his heel and grabbed the top of the wooden barrier, easily vaulting himself over and landing with the smallest of sounds.

If it would make the hellish voice in his head shut up, he'd try anything.

So even though he knew it was stupid and reckless, he crept around the side of the large house, careful not let the snow crunch too loudly under his boots. Strange, it didn't seem as if anyone else in the house was awake…

Not counting whoever was playing the music, of course.

Arthur ducked low to avoid being seen from any of the windows, one shoulder brushing the vinyl exterior. The music… It was so clear to him now.

He paused, on his hands and knees, beneath the open window where the music poured out into the frigid air.

God…

Closing his eyes, Arthur simply stayed still and **listened**.

He wasn't well versed in the world of music, but any simpleton could discern that it was a violin. And a well played one at that…

The song sounded so familiar, he swore he had heard it before…

It was slow, smooth, comforting. He felt the music washing over him like the ocean's waves, pulling him out to sea…

And for once, Arthur let go.

His breath hitched with every crescendo and lingering notes. The music hung in the air, wrapped around him, soothed his frayed nerves…

All too soon, the beauty faded and he was left with only silence and cold.

'_What are you doing? You __**are **__insane. Just turn around and go home.' _

The Englishman frowned, shaking his head roughly.

Wait, what the hell was he doing here?

He had let himself get caught up in some damned music like a sailor to siren song! The fact was that he was on his hands and knees in some stranger's backyard listening to what was probably a recorded track in the middle of the bloody night while his brother was at home being chewed out by their emotionally abusive parents.

'_Really, what kind of brother are you?'_

Arthur turned to leave as the situation dawned on him, about to crawl away so he could run back home and forget all of this insane mess and protect his little brother.

'_Hurry up! You're such a bloody g-'_

Suddenly, the music began again, a fast, wild melody that sang to him loud and clear.

Maybe…

Maybe he could stay just a few more minutes… After all, the new song… Well, it sounded foolish, even to his own mind, but it reminded him of when he was just a little thing, running around in the woods with his fairy friends. It had been a long time since he believed in such things…

This time, the music was fast paced, wild, fantastic. A piano accompanied the beautiful notes of the violin, every note making his heart beat faster and faster.

Not for the first time, he wondered who was playing (or listening) to music this late. With the window open, no less!

Maybe it would hurt to… Just take a little peek.

Arthur waited for a moment, but the voice that normally would've perked up and told him how stupid his ideas were was silent. So there was no one to decide but himself, then…

Rising to sit up on his knees, his fingers curled just over the window ledge, and he slowly, carefully rose himself up for a peek, not knowing what in the world to expect…

His eyes widened at the sight.

A boy, perhaps only a year or two older than himself, held the violin that had captivated him from the beginning. Every time he drew the bow across the strings, the most beautiful notes poured from the instrument and danced around him.

His long, honey blonde hair fell loosely around his shoulders, barely concealing the concentrated expression on his face. There was a music stand before him, but his eyes were closed, showing that he had memorized the music long ago. Those long, angular features… The delicately pointed chin, that scruffy goatee…

Wait, it was that boy from school.

What was his name again? It was something girly and French… Frankie? Fred? Franny? No… Francis. Yes, that was it. Francis Bonnefoy.

Arthur had never seen him without expensive clothes or those two delinquent friends of his or a posse of infatuated girls. Yet here he was, dressed in a white tank top and baggy navy sweatpants, playing the most beautiful music he had ever heard.

It almost felt like a dream…

He closed his eyes, one finger tapping to the beat of the song, letting himself being carried away in the music…

He hadn't listened to many songs lately. Sure, there was a tune playing on the radio once in awhile that he would bob his head to, but they were just silly pop songs that he hardly thought about once they were over. When he was younger, his mother used to turn on their ancient cassette player, and all of them would spin around the living room to the Beatles…

Those days were long gone.

And yet… They were so close. When he closed his eyes, Arthur felt as if he could just count to five and everything would be back to normal. It would all be just a bad dream, and he would tell his brothers about it over the breakfast table and his father would joke about who would win the fight and his mother would reprimand him with a smile and smack him with a dishrag and then they'd all laugh and be happy again and Arthur would forget all about that horrible nightmare and go back to living his life...

There was a sudden tight feeling in his chest at the thought. He swallowed heavily, forehead pressing against the cold edge of the windowsill. He missed it all so much…

"Would you like to request another?"

Arthur jumped at the sudden voice, falling back into the snow with a yelp.

Too late, he realized he was spotted.

He scrambled to his feet, backing away from the window with wide eyes.

"I-I'm so sorry! I know this is your property and I know I'm trespassing it was just that I got distracted, and…" he trailed off when he fully absorbed Francis' reaction.

The boy didn't seem angry, judging by the amused smile on his face. The violin and bow dangling from his hands, he rested his elbows on the windowsill, chuckling lightly at Arthur's hasty apology.

"Non, don't worry about it." He said with a flippant wave of his hand. "I appreciate people who appreciate music."

'_Great job, Sherlock. Now you can add idiotic to the growing list of faults. I'll put it right between unreliable and unloved, just to break up the monotony.'_

Face flushing a deep shade of crimson, Arthur quickly began to back away, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process.

"W-well , I'm sorry. I-I'll just be going now…" he stammered, glancing behind him.

"Do you have to go now? I wasn't done playing yet. Come in, make yourself comfortable." To his absolute surprise, Francis pushed the window up as far as it would go, gesturing for him to come inside.

Arthur merely stared at him, stunned.

Wait.

So even though he was trespassing in his backyard around midnight and they had never exchanged words, he was going to let him inside his home.

He knew the French were idiotic, but he didn't think they were **that **dumb.

"Wh-what? Wh-why the hell should I trust you! I don't even know you!" he barked, an irrational surge of anger concealing his embarrassment. Francis merely raised an eyebrow, as if inviting a stranger inside was the most normal thing to do.

"What do you mean? We go to the same school. Your brother's dating my little brother Mattie."

Arthur blinked.

He forgot, Francis was Mathew's older brother. They acted nothing like each other, and they didn't even share the same last name, so...

"Ah, y-yes, I remember." He said quickly. "But… Um…"

Honestly, he was scrambling for an excuse not to go in.

'_How about molestation? That guy's a complete playboy; how do you know he's not going to take advantage of you and-'_

"There's no need to worry, my parents are never home. The only one here is Mattie, and he's always shut up in his room." Francis said, interrupting his thoughts. He smiled at Arthur as if to comfort him, amusement sparkling in those bright cerulean eyes. But the Englishman swore he caught traces of a different, darker emotion in those eyes, one he knew all too well…

But it couldn't be what he thought he was.

How could a boy surrounded by girls and best friends look so lonely?

'_This is stupid. You're already an idiot, but this is even dumber than you normally are. This is the dumbest thing you've ever done, and you've done plenty of stupid things. Did you forget that Alfred needs you? Your little brother? Yeah, right now, he's probably still being yelled at. Do you really want him to get hurt? God, you're a horrible excuse for an older brother.'_

"Come on, I'm not going to bite you." Francis laughed at his own little joke, stretching his hand out to Arthur. "Well, not much, anyway."

The Englishman hesitated, taking in the sight before him.

Francis Bonnefoy, the most popular person in school who he had never exchanged a single word with, was offering to let him stay inside the messiest room he had ever seen and listen to music.

'_You aren't really thinking about it, are you? He's probably a psycho killer. He loves to kill idiotic Brits who don't give a damn about their own family. No one will cry at your funeral. Not like they'll notice you're gone in the first place, seeing how useless and d-'_

"Fine."

For the first time in his life, Arthur ignored that voice, hesitantly taking a step forward.

For once, he would be selfish.

That, and the unbelievably happy smile on the Frenchman's face made him almost feel…

Happy.

"Merci."

The Englishman merely nodded at that, scowling at the utter happiness on the other's face. God, it was as if he had just made that idiot's whole day.

"Don't let it get to your head…"

Then, he took a deep breath, the cold, crisp air burning his lungs helping to steady his nerves….

And he took the Frenchman's hand.

oOo

OoO

oOo

OoO

oOo

OoO

There we go. It's on time for once, isn't that great! It's the next one I'm worried about, since I haven't even started writing it yet…

Eh, that's a mountain I'll cross when I get to it.

By the way, the first song Francis played was a violin cover of Music of the Night from the play Phantom of the Opera. The second song Fairytale by Alexander Rybak. They're both fabulous songs, you should really look them up.

Also, here's a cheat sheet: Liam is Scotland. The twins Arthur mentioned are Northern and Southern Ireland. And Alfred, of course, is America. I might add a Wales to the list of brothers, but I don't know… I don't even have names for the twins yet, so… If you have any suggestions, I'd be happy to hear them.

Oh, and derp… I think this is the same ending for Light and Dark. I must subconsciously like them holding hands. It's cute!

As usual, I don't own Hetalia or any copyrighted thing I might have mentioned, so please don't sue me.

Thank you for reading!


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